Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [130]

When Bruce and Starlight arrived at the command center, Black Noir’s body lay there, utterly lifeless.

His armor was riddled with cracks, and the fatal wound—a clean, piercing blow to the chest—made the cause of death unmistakable.

Homelander stood silently, his face dark with anger as he stared at Black Noir’s corpse.

This murder was completely different from Translucent’s death.

To Homelander, Black Noir had been more than a teammate. He was a trusted friend.

A friend who wouldn’t betray, deceive, or criticize him.

“This is a direct challenge to me,” Homelander said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Everyone knows Black Noir was my shadow.”

He turned to the remaining members of The Seven, his piercing gaze sweeping across them.

“What have you uncovered so far?”

No one responded.

Though everyone had been putting on a show of investigating, they hadn’t made any meaningful progress.

In the past, such an approach might have sufficed. But this time was different.

This time, the insult had landed squarely on their faces.

Along with Black Noir’s body, a thick cardstock note had been delivered to Vought.

It bore a single message:

“You will pay for what you did eight years ago. —Billy Butcher.”

There was no need for further investigation. The killer had signed his name.

“Without me, you all are useless,” Homelander sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. “I don’t need you anymore. This is my problem now.”

A chilling murder intent laced his words.

Bruce, watching from the sidelines, slowly raised his head.

Something was different about Homelander today.

The restraints that once held him in check had been undone.

Butcher’s provocation had flipped a critical switch within him.

“That man… Butcher. He’s the ‘Butcher’ you mentioned before, isn’t he?” Bruce asked Kathoom quietly.

“You said he’s just a regular human. But now he’s openly taunting Homelander. Where does that confidence come from?”

Bruce could think of only one answer: the Nth metal dagger.

He had a growing suspicion that Butcher’s newfound audacity came from possessing that weapon.

As Bruce studied Homelander’s expression, he realized something even more troubling—Homelander was teetering on the edge of losing control.

If someone were to fan the flames now, the resulting chaos would be catastrophic.

—

The bell jingled—

Homelander stepped into Martha’s bar again, though this time his mood was completely different.

The scene felt reminiscent of Man of Steel, where Superman, before revealing his presence to the world, sought solace and guidance from a priest.

Homelander, too, was at a crossroads, preparing to unveil his true self to the world.

“What’s wrong?”

Martha’s keen observation picked up on the shift in Homelander’s demeanor.

Or perhaps this was simply what she had expected all along, though the timing was a bit earlier than anticipated.

“Martha, I feel lost right now.”

Homelander sat down at the bar, lowering his head like a child nursing a wounded pride.

“Can I help?” Martha’s voice was soft and soothing.

Homelander looked up to see Martha gazing down at him with genuine concern.

“I’m sorry, Martha. I don’t even know where to start,” he said, his tone apologetic. He didn’t want to burden her with his troubles.

“I just… I guess I needed someone to talk to.”

“If that’s the case, I’d be happy to sit with you for a while.”

For the first time, Martha stepped out from behind the bar and took a seat beside him. Her comforting presence nearly brought Homelander to tears.

“What’s on your mind?”

Martha asked softly. “I can tell you’re carrying a lot of pain.”

Pain.

Yes, that was it.

Homelander thought, Martha is the only one who truly cares about me. She can see right through my vulnerabilities.

As always, Martha prepared him a drink. Homelander downed it in one gulp.

“Everyone is against me,” he muttered, the slight buzz of alcohol loosening his tongue. “I’ve always been a good person, but they keep pushing me. They killed my friend… and now they dare to taunt me.”

An overwhelming sense of injustice bubbled up inside him.

Hadn’t he done enough?

Setting aside his flaws, Homelander had countless virtues.

He brought hope to the world, fought crime, and inspired people with his smile.

Yet despite his perfection, there were still those who dared to oppose him.

He thought back to the note: You will pay for what you did eight years ago.

The words were maddeningly vague. Homelander had done so much in those eight years—how was he supposed to know what they meant?

“I understand your pain, child,” Martha said gently. “The world is cruel like that, always making honest people suffer.”

“It shouldn’t be this way, Martha. I think… I think I’ve been doing everything wrong.”

Years of frustration poured out as Homelander continued, “Madelyn told me to act a certain way, and for a while, I even enjoyed it.”

“But after discovering her betrayal, I’ve grown to despise this facade.”

“I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be my true self.”

“But if I reveal who I really am, I’m afraid all the applause and admiration I have now will disappear. I… I can’t let that happen.”

“Martha, what should I do?”

Homelander had reached a pivotal moment in his life.

It was clear—Billy Butcher’s provocation had been the final straw.

Homelander’s carefully constructed world was cracking, and he stood at a crossroads. His next decision would not only reshape his own destiny but potentially alter the fate of the entire world.

Recognizing this, Martha’s smile grew slightly wider.

She placed a hand gently atop Homelander’s head.

The touch sent an electric sensation coursing through him, leaving his body tingling and weak.

“You’re a good boy,” Martha said with a warmth that melted his defenses. “You’re God’s most perfect creation. There’s not a single thing wrong with you.”

Homelander nodded.

Of course. Martha understands me.

“But,” Martha continued, her tone shifting, “if I must point out one flaw… it’s that you care too much about what other people think.”

Homelander’s body stiffened.

She was right.

He could kill everyone in the world if he wanted.

Yet he didn’t. He restrained his power—for their sake.

And how did they repay him?

By taking his kindness for granted, by daring to challenge him.

“This world,” Martha said, her voice steady and deliberate, “has come to see your mercy as ordinary. Some even have the audacity to provoke you.”

“It’s time to make a change, Homelander. Be brave.”

“Show the world your strength. Let them understand—”

“That their only choice is to love you.”

Her words resonated deeply within him, striking a chord that no one else had ever reached.

Homelander felt a flicker of doubt but quickly suppressed it.

He looked at Martha, his hesitation evident. “But… what about the people who already adore me?”

“As long as you’re strong enough, no one will question you,” Martha reassured him with a serene smile. “And those who do…”

“Send them away.”

Martha leaned closer, her voice soft but commanding. “Homelander, create a world that aligns with your vision.”

“You can’t be wrong.”

“You’ll never be wrong.”

Homelander’s eyes glowed with clarity, Martha’s words unraveling his confusion.

Of course, he was right.

He was Homelander.

His choices would always be the correct ones.

If some didn’t accept that truth, it wasn’t his fault. It was their fault—the fault of fools and weaklings.

Anyone who wanted to live, anyone who wanted to avoid suffering, would love him, serve him, respect him, and worship him.

Because he was Homelander.

“I understand now!”

Homelander shot to his feet, letting out a triumphant roar.

At that moment, everything became clear.

Martha watched his outburst with a smile, unperturbed.

“Thank you, Martha. I finally know what I need to do!”

He lowered his head, his gaze soft as he looked at her. “I have a small request… if you’re willing.”

“Go ahead, child,” Martha said gently. “I’m listening.”

“Can I… hug you?”

“No.”

—

That day, all across America, people witnessed something they had never thought possible.

A bizarre event unfolded across every electronic screen.

Televisions playing different programs, computers browsing various websites, and giant public screens displaying advertisements all simultaneously flickered into static snow.

The electromagnetic interference was overwhelming, the kind only a massive corporation like Vought—armed with satellites and a monopoly on media—could orchestrate.

Confused and uneasy, people everywhere turned their attention to the nearest screen.

Then, a familiar voice broke through the static.

“I have an urgent announcement for the world.”

The static cleared, revealing a face every American recognized.

Homelander.

But this wasn’t the cheerful, radiant Homelander they knew. His expression was dark, his features hard and severe.

“At this very moment,” he began, “a dangerous terrorist named Billy Butcher is roaming freely across America.”

“He has murdered Translucent. He has murdered Black Noir. And he has slaughtered countless other heroes—our partners in justice!”

On streets and in malls, bustling commuters and shoppers froze in their tracks.

They stared, stunned, at the massive screens on skyscrapers, the bright blue sky contrasting sharply with Homelander’s ominous declaration.

His face was everywhere, dominating every corner of the nation.

“Billy Butcher,” Homelander continued, “I know your evil intentions. I know your plans to bring chaos to this country, one piece at a time.”

“For example, right now, your target is Queens.”

As he spoke, the broadcast cut to live footage of Queens.

High above the clouds, two crimson beams of laser light descended like divine wrath.

The beams sliced through the city, cutting streets in half and leveling buildings.

As chaos erupted, people fled in panic, but it was too late for many.

Even amidst the destruction, surviving screens continued to display Homelander’s image.

“Sadly,” he said, “by the time I learned of this disaster, it was already too late. The damage was done.”

“According to my intelligence, Butcher’s next target will be Manhattan at 9 p.m. tonight.”

Homelander’s expression turned grave.

“Stop this madness, Butcher. End your reign of terror.”

“Tonight, at 8 p.m., meet me in Times Square.”

“We’ll settle this one-on-one. No need to endanger innocent lives.”

With that, the broadcast ended, and screens across the nation returned to normal programming.

The streets erupted into chaos as terrified people began chattering about the announcement.

But in the middle of a crowded street, one man remained motionless.

Dressed in black, with a scruffy beard and a glint of fury in his eyes, he stood frozen, processing what he had just heard.

It was Billy Butcher.

To others, Homelander’s broadcast might have sounded like a declaration of justice.

To Butcher, it was something entirely different.

The attack on Queens? That wasn’t his doing.

That bastard Homelander was setting him up, using mass destruction to force him out of hiding.

The message was clear: if Butcher didn’t show himself, Homelander would strike Manhattan next—and the blame would fall squarely on Butcher’s shoulders.

“You bloody wanker!” Butcher hissed, gripping the dagger hidden inside his coat.

Homelander wanted a one-on-one fight?

Perfect.

—

In a dimly lit bar, the television had just finished airing Homelander’s declaration.

The devastation in Queens had played out live, every horrific detail laid bare for the world to see.

Martha swirled her glass, watching her reflection shimmer in the liquid.

“It’s a bit earlier than expected,” she murmured, “but Bruce should be able to handle it.”

She tipped the glass back, drinking it all in one go.

“Good luck, Bruce,” she said with a smile, her voice tinged with amusement as the alcohol sent a pleasant warmth coursing through her.

“I hope Barbatos proves useful,” she mused. “From the enchantress onward, I’ve been weaving this web for so long, all leading to this moment.”

Martha began to hum a soft lullaby, a tune she had sung to Bruce as a child to help him fall asleep.

“Don’t listen to the nonsense that owl whispers to you.

“You only need to be a good boy for Mommy.”

—

This is a fan translation of 蝙蝠侠的猫头鹰教父 by 巴巴罗萨光年. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!